


Champagne and Black Boxer Briefs

by edelau



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AUTHOR: PerlaNegra, Humour, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Paraphilia, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 00:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edelau/pseuds/edelau
Summary: Harry has an unhealthy obsession with male legs and that’s a problem with his job; mainly because of the pale ones of his most hated rival.





	Champagne and Black Boxer Briefs

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Champán y Calzoncillos Negros](https://archiveofourown.org/works/89266) by [PerlaNegra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerlaNegra/pseuds/PerlaNegra). 



> Work based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling. No offense is meant by this.
> 
> Thank you to [capitu](https://www.fanfiction.net/beta/176442/Capitu), [Natural Logarhythm](https://www.fanfiction.net/beta/3677908/Natural-Logarhythm) and [1stPrelude](https://www.fanfiction.net/beta/5738118/1stPrelude) for the proofreading. Any mistakes still there are mine.

Up... nothing. That was obvious; usually Snitches didn’t fly so high. Down, on his right... nothing. Snorting, Harry dove downward. The elusive little golden ball was giving him serious problems; he had to find it no matter what. It crossed his mind that, this being the Final of the European Championship, the referees might have charmed the Snitch to remain hidden for as long as possible, thus increasing the excitement of the game which would define the winner.

It had been over three hundred years since England had won an international championship, but this year they had scored victory match after victory match and given their country the chance to play the final, and, who knew, if Harry managed to catch the Snitch, they could actually win.

But the Germans were tough to beat. The other team’s Seeker sped past Harry so fast, he nearly fell.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Potter!” Malfoy yelled, passing him by as he escorted their own team’s Chaser who had the Quaffle and was flying straight to the rival’s goal hoops. “Watch out and catch the bloody Snitch, for fuck’s sake!”

Dumbstruck, Harry’s response died on his lips. Malfoy was already too far away to hear him anyway. He flew away to look among the pillars supporting the stands. This was very risky, because if the Snitch lurked somewhere else, he would lose it for sure. However, Harry thought, maybe that’s why he never failed to catch it: bold moves.

His hunch was proven correct, and the Snitch appeared behind a pillar. Stifling a groan of both anxiety and surprise, he sped to it. Just a few feet away and he caught it; the other Seeker flying far away didn’t even see it.

Nobody, not even his teammates, could believe Harry was emerging from the depths of the stadium with the Snitch in his hand. Malfoy, as captain, gave him a huge smile. Harry blushed, and for a moment he failed to even hear the roaring of the crowd.

Excited and shaking, Harry let someone take his broom―the latest model―off his hands. England had won! And though it was he who’d caught the Snitch, no one could say he had done all the work.

Malfoy was the best Chaser and captain a team could ever have. Harry still couldn’t believe that both of them could play together on the national team without beating each other up, and above all, that Malfoy didn’t hate him for winning the Seeker’s position.

Back home, Malfoy and Harry played on different teams and only met in competition to fight for the Snitch. Until now, they had never played on the same side. Nor had they shared locker rooms, showers or nudity.

Cheering, hugs and congratulations flooded the corridor leading to the English team’s locker room, and though Harry tried to let himself be swept up by it, he didn’t have much success. He couldn’t help thinking this would be the last time―at least until the next World Cup―that he would be with Malfoy.

Maybe that was for the best. , that was for the best. Harry really couldn’t handle it anymore.

Brimming with emotion, he walked into the locker room amidst the cheerful wave of hot and sweaty bodies of his teammates: those who had played, the reserves, the coaches and the captain.

Everybody started undressing, throwing their tight uniform trousers every which way, yelling and celebrating, remembering the best moves and the German coach’s face when Harry caught the Snitch. They couldn’t wait to see the photographs that would be printed in tomorrow’s international papers.

Harry heard it all without really listening. It had always been like this. Ever since he played at Hogwarts, he’d had a feeling, but it wasn’t until he openly acknowledged his homosexuality that he realized: he had a fetish.

Legs. He loved watching men’s legs.

He couldn’t help but be grateful for being a wizard and not playing Muggle football, where the players were always wearing shorts. At least he only suffered in the shower when his teammates removed the heavy uniform and exposed those muscled, sweaty, shiny, hard lower limbs.

And suffer he did.

He suffered because he had to be there, _amongst_ them. Because he was constantly touched by the knee of a teammate who, ignorant of his paraphilia, had not restrained himself from touching and being touched. He suffered because that exquisite parade of legs in different shapes, from every angle, front, back and side, was delicious, intoxicating and exciting. He had to muster all his bloody willpower not to come right there in the middle of the showers in front of everybody, watching those blond, brunette, hairless and hairy, gorgeous legs, all of them fucking beautiful.

And that fixation of comparing sizes, of touching themselves until they got hard, didn’t help at all.

But if Harry thought he couldn’t suffer more, he was wrong. Being on the national team with Malfoy as a teammate had been the worst thing that had ever happened to him in his Quidditch career, because the wanker had― _No, it wasn’t fair, for Merlin’s sake_ ―the most beautiful and tempting legs poor Harry had ever seen in his long history of admiring thighs, ankles and everything in between.

And Harry knew Malfoy would kill him if he ever found out Harry’s daily wanks featured the pale lower limbs of that _absolutely_ stunning body of his.

He swallowed hard and took off his trousers. Mercifully, removing his glasses meant his vision blurred, though technically he could still see. He finished undressing until he was clad only in the black boxer briefs branded with the team’s sponsor and resigned himself to another session of torture as he walked to the showers, already thinking about wanking in his hotel room.

However, before he or any of his teammates could get to the showers, the coach’s assistants barged in from a whirlwind of shouts and screams, carrying armfuls of champagne bottles. They were received with even more yelling, not because the team had a particular preference for the Muggle drink, but because everybody knew there was nothing better than pouring it on each other to celebrate.

Harry pressed himself against the wall as far away as he could from the celebration, but unable to control himself, he let his eyes roam over the spectacle in front of him. As much as he swallowed, he couldn’t help his mouth filling with saliva, watching all those beautifully proportioned frames jumping and bouncing, hugging each other, dripping champagne making their bodies shine under the bright lights of the locker room.

Naturally the Seeker’s eyes quickly scanned the crowd looking for his very favourite pair of legs. He found them. Their owner, overcome with enthusiasm just like the rest of the team, seemed to momentarily forget his usual cool, detached self as he allowed himself to be pulled into hugs, showered in champagne and congratulated by the others, who rightly attributed the day’s victory to his excellent Chaser skills and his outstanding performance as captain.

Malfoy’s smile was so big, Harry even forgot to look at those beautiful legs, so intoxicating was the sight of it. He was so flushed it almost seemed as if he had been sunbathing at the beach, and his eyes shone with joy that Harry swore he’d never seen in Malfoy before.

He couldn’t help wondering how Malfoy would look after a good, hot fucking. He looked down. It hurt to think he might never know.

Suddenly, someone pulled him in and Harry found himself in the middle of the celebration. He looked up just in time to be showered with a stream of sparkling champagne, blinding him for a moment. Finally, he gave in to the moment, laughing as he wiped his eyes and face to remove the liquid so he could see again.

He almost died when the first thing he saw was the captain. Someone had given him the newly won Golden Cup and he was holding it as he jumped, which made that significant bulge inside his black boxer briefs bounce. Harry surely knew he was the only nutter who found that sexy.

 _Fuck_.

The manager came in and Malfoy handed him the Cup, still shouting and laughing like the rest of the team. Malfoy turned and saw Harry, and immediately went for him. Horrified, Harry stepped back, but the encounter was inevitable.

Malfoy jumped at him, and Harry, by pure instinct, caught him.

His blond captain wrapped his legs─oh, Merlin!─around Harry’s waist, arms circling his shoulders. Harry, who had without thinking nearly grabbed Malfoy’s arse, found it impossible to remove his hands. It felt so good, and Merlin but Harry didn’t want this moment to ever end.

Trying to act casual, Harry didn’t stop smiling, while Malfoy, still wrapped around him, cried ‘We did it!’ over and over. The blond’s legs were hard as iron and Harry was sure he didn’t need any more strength than that to hold onto him. Against all his better judgement, Harry slid his hands down over Malfoy’s arse, just a little... he needed, oh God, he needed to know how it felt, needed to know if it would be as firm as he imagined.

Malfoy froze immediately and looked at Harry in amazement. Harry froze as well, waiting for a curse or a punch in the face. But long seconds passed and seeing that nothing was happening, and while everybody was still shouting around them, Harry decided _that was enough_.

In a single motion, Harry turned them around and pushed Malfoy against the nearest wall so hard that for a moment he thought he’d knocked the breath out of him. Without giving him any time to react, and before he could regret it, Harry leaned down and kissed him.

The world around them disappeared, and fell silent, too.

Harry knew everybody was watching them; it seemed the party had ended in favour of watching Potter and Malfoy snog against the wall. Because Malfoy was kissing him, oh yes, he was kissing him back, opening his mouth and letting Harry’s tongue slide in, moaning so softly Harry knew only he could hear it. And fuck, Harry felt that he was hard, so he rubbed against Malfoy, showing him how very much he wanted him.

“Merlin, Potter,” Malfoy whispered between kisses, and Harry was dimly aware of the flashes of the cameras on them. “You’re always trying to make the front page one way or another, fucking exhibitionist.”

Harry smiled at the fondness of the insult and thought he could survive every day hearing him talk like that. “You love it, Malfoy. I haven’t heard you complaining.”

“Do you want to hear me moaning?” Malfoy asked with a sexy voice, making Harry’s hair stand on end with that extraordinary suggestion.

He pulled away, completely unaware of the commotion they were causing around them. Apparently, just a few feet away reporters were shouting questions at them, but their teammates and security staff were trying to push them out of the locker room. It seemed a perfect time to escape, so that’s exactly what Harry did.

Leaving behind the drinks and celebrations, Harry apparated with his precious cargo straight into his hotel room. Malfoy, caught completely off guard, gasped at the feeling, but Harry didn’t give him more time to think.

Harry’s head was spinning, he had never felt so much passion. He dropped Malfoy on the bed and crawled on top of him, covering him with his body. Malfoy’s hot whispers still rang in his ears, a promise he intended for Malfoy to fulfil.

Harry pressed Malfoy down into the mattress, making him gasp. His erection rubbed against Harry’s, both trapped inside their boxer-briefs, eager and throbbing, looking for freedom from the fabric and the tension.

Still kissing Malfoy, Harry caressed as much of the fair skin as he could reach. He stroked his flushed face, dipped his thumbs in his mouth as they kissed, then moved down his cheeks and neck to hold his bony shoulders so hard that Malfoy moaned in pain. Harry also felt Malfoy’s hands sliding over his back, hard and firm, grasping every muscle and holding him hard as though trying to memorise position and feeling.

It was insane. Harry had no idea Malfoy could ever want him so much─him, his eternal rival. He’d never been given any indication... Malfoy had always been a git, giving him ridiculous orders in the field and forcing him to do additional exercises with the excuse that as a Seeker he needed the extra practice. He made him run non-stop and Harry always finished training last, which meant showering alone.

Malfoy’s hands slid down his back and started pulling down the tight fabric of his underwear. Harry moved back and broke the kiss to look Malfoy in the eye, barely believing his good luck.

“If you do that, there is no turning back, Malfoy.”

Malfoy smirked as if he was the one in charge, as if he wasn’t the one underneath Harry, pinned under his unyielding weight and hard body.

“If you talked less and acted more, this Snitch would have been yours a long time ago, Potter.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and then smiled. He rose enough to allow Malfoy to finish pulling off his boxers, then laid beside him and stripped him as well, until finally both lay side by side completely naked. The brightness in Malfoy’s eyes was incomparable to anything else, even to moments earlier when he’d held the European Cup in the locker room of a stadium that now seemed distant and unreal.

Harry let his eyes travel down Malfoy’s body, feasting on the most spectacular pair of legs he had ever seen. Having them around his waist while he thrust into that gorgeous arse had been his favourite fantasy since he started training with the team a year ago.

Harry kissed him again, his hand finding Malfoy’s smooth cock. He stroked it for a long time, feeling precum leaking from the tip, smearing it across the length. He grunted when Harry let go and knelt between his legs.

In his lower position, Draco looked up at him with a predatory smile.

“You’re mine, Malfoy,” said Harry. “You can’t escape now.”

Malfoy snorted, which became a moan when Harry’s finger, slick with saliva, slid into his tight entrance. “Noo, Potter,” he gasped. “It’s you who can’t escape.”

Malfoy’s grey eyes said much more than his words, and suddenly Harry understood everything. He had planned this. It couldn’t be new. If Malfoy had wanted him as long as Harry had wanted Malfoy, then...

“Why were you such a git to me? You acted as if you hated me,” he couldn’t help asking.

Draco couldn’t answer. He had his eyes tightly shut and was raising his hips in an attempt to get more. His moans were music to Harry’s ears as he dipped two more fingers in him.

His other hand ran up and down that incredible thigh. Harry didn’t know where to look, eyes traveling those slender, hairless legs which had haunted his most private fantasies, but then also wandering up to the point where his three fingers, wet with spit from his watering mouth, sank into Malfoy’s hot entrance, opening him up for Harry and driving him crazy.

Even further up, Draco’s cock looked ready to explode, constantly leaking precum onto Draco’s belly, smearing those fine blond strands of body hair. Harry bent down and licked him clean, his mouth filling with Draco’s salty flavor, and his heart swelled with happiness. Further still above that, Draco’s face was red down to his neck, a clear sign of unspeakable passion and tension. He was about to cry, about to scream, about to be his, and Harry couldn’t wait anymore.

He removed his fingers and placed the tip of his hard cock just there. He stroked Malfoy’s legs once again and pulled them up to his chest, giving himself complete access to Draco’s entrance. Still running his hand over those damn gorgeous legs which were once his agony and now his sudden happiness, Harry slid slowly into Draco’s tight heat.

Slowly he felt that willing body opening to him, devouring his pulsing cock inch by inch. Harry couldn’t help it; as much as he didn’t want to, he simply closed his eyes and groaned. The heat was unbearable, the strain and pressure beyond words.

He didn’t stop pushing until he was fully in and felt his bollocks rocking against Draco’s arse. He opened his eyes to see Draco’s mouth open in a silent scream of painful pleasure. He bent down and kissed him, tasting a hint of champagne, then lifted himself up from those legs that were shining with sweat, bent so they could be embraced. Just like that, Harry started to rock in search of culmination.

Between the most deafening moans of pleasure he’d ever experienced, he found the angle that made Draco groan louder and thrust again and again, each time harder than the last, his ears filling with the noises of wet skin slapping against each other, louder than even the cheering of the biggest stadium.

He felt wet warmth on his chest and knew Draco had come, his seed sticky between them. Draco’s arse went impossibly tight around his cock in a way that not even the strongest fist could do. Harry buried himself as deep as he could and came with a loud, hoarse scream, not caring about anything else.

“Will you tell me how the hell you did wandless Apparition, Potter?”

Harry chuckled. Even he didn’t know how he’d done it.

“That’s a hero’s secret, Malfoy. As with Quidditch tactics, it’s something that cannot be revealed to anyone. Much less a rival.”

In the darkness of the room Harry could see the unusual, warm smile of his captain.

“Keep talking to me like that and you’ll get fifty laps at the next practice.”

Harry, who was still stroking Draco’s smooth legs from the top to as far down as he could reach, smiled even more.

“I know why you did that. You made me run non-stop so I couldn’t shower with the others, jealous bastard.”

But Draco didn’t show any sign of being surprised. “Well done, Mr Potter. Ten points for that late realisation. After learning of your damn fetish, do you think I’d let you watch the other’s legs if it was in my power to prevent it?”

“You’ll have to make it up to me for taking away my enjoyment, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, bringing his fingers to Draco’s rising erection.

He heard Draco swallowing and something shone in his eyes. “My own legs don’t seem like enough reward?”

“Always.”

And he sealed the promise with a sensuous kiss until Draco was breathless again.

The End


End file.
